


I see dead people

by Yu_Rei



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Multi, Reader-Insert, Shameless Self-Indulgence, begins pre hunter exam arc, ghost!Reader, i guess?, isekai ?, reader/everyone interactions, reposting bc i orphaned my old account
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-01-24 13:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18572311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yu_Rei/pseuds/Yu_Rei
Summary: After an underwhelming death, you find yourself, a ghost, navigating a world you had gotten to know all too well through illustrations and film.[repost]





	1. Sun X Or X Moon

The loud wail of a crying baby resounds through the near empty train carriage you sit on. You scowl at the disturbance, reaching for your earphones to block out the subsequent blubbering and screaming. Plugging the accessory into your phone, you play the first song you see in the your playlist. Unfortunately, even the consistent bass wasn't enough to block out the racket.

"Mama! I want to get off!" The high-pitched shriek elicits a sigh from you, and you raise the hood of your jacket in an attempt to evade the noise, to no avail.

"Sh, sh, we'll get off next stop!" The woman whispers in an urgent tone.

"No! I'm scared!"

"It's okay, sweetie, it's just a bridge."

"No! We're going to die!"

By this time, you begin to zone out of their conversation, trying instead to focus on the song blasting through your earphones.

You stare out of the train window at the approaching bridge. It’s a beautiful scenery, however, years of this daily trip had desensitised you to the vibrant lime green of nature growing from a seemingly golden ground, which frames the fading greys of concrete and metal

Another loud scream cuts through your attention as the train passes a steep dip, indicating its passing onto the bridge. "I don't want to! I don't want to!"

The infant weeps the whole way across the bridge, and you can only roll your eyes when you see the tunnel at the end of the bridge approaching. Hopefully the loud cries would come to a stop now.

Perhaps you had judged too soon. An especially loud wail echoes through the train before you can feel the shudder of the rails beneath you. Not long after, the vehicle below you sinks. It happens all too quickly, and within seconds you are falling. Above you, there is a groan of metal being torn apart, before the the ground below is rushing towards you.

Those who propagate the notion of life dramatically flashing before your eyes is spreading bullshit. You barely have the time to process fear before you are splayed across the ground. Jagged fragments of glass puncture the skin of your neck and face, and no part of your body co-operates in your attempt to push yourself up. For a second, everything is numb, and the cold sensation is immediately followed by an aching fire which spreads through your entire body. From the multiple lacerations across your skin, searing the surface of your flesh, to the broken bones which caused unimaginable aching from the core of your form. The next second, everything blanks out, and the second after that, the pain disappears.

It is a completely new sensation of clarity which you had never felt before, but caught in the previous moments of pain, you double over, screaming to the sky.

It takes you a while to register that the agony of dying had disappeared. Instead, there is light clothing your skin, and the same strange glow radiates off the people around you. Some of them are separated from their own bodies, while some are still alive, and trying to call out. There are people screaming nearby, but it seems that everyone else who had detached from their body was completely entranced. Their eyes are blank, and walk like zombies. Stiff feet carry them to patches of white that had been scattered around the scene, and some form an amalgam at those patches. You notice that as they reach the white area, fragments of their light disappear, along with their form which defragment into tiny specks, floating into the sky.

"Am I a ghost?" You muse quietly.

You notice that you can't float or morph through objects as ghosts are typically shown to do in fiction, however, you do feel abnormally light. You also see your own mangled corpse a few metres away from you, a sight you’re quick to turn away from.

Instead, you begin to think of the other people who are literally and willingly dissolving into thin air. Its perplexing, how those who've been granted a new freedom would just leave without trying to explore its limits. To you, it seemed like and escape you’ve yearned for for so long.

Turning around, you notice dark patches further away which no one seems to approach. Out of curiosity, you walk towards it. You tap your finger on the purple orb, and flinch away as soon as you feel a force pulling your appendage towards it. You note that no part of your finger had turned to dust. You promptly rip off a fragment of your t-shirt, which strangely enough also glowed the same way as your flesh, and flick it into the orb. You watch the fabric as it is sucked in, effectively disappearing into the orb. As long as it didn't turn to dust, it was good enough for you.

"Fuck it." You sigh.

In a moment of exasperated impulse, you reach your arms into the orb, barely having time to let out a muted squeak as your form is sucked into the darkness.

And of course strange black orbs have a room with a door inside. Why wouldn't they? Two empty chairs, facing each other stand in the centre of the room. Between them is a circular desk with a golden key on top. Comical arrows point down at one chair, as if persuading you to take a seat. You forgo this action, plucking the key off the desk. You figure that taking a seat would only cause the appearance of something that would convince you to just disappear. The locked door behind seemed like a much better option. With a grin, you unlock the rusty chains around the handle, which look as if they hadn't been touched in decades. The door creaks open, and you enter.

The first step you take is followed by a flash of light, bright and blinding, your eyes blink rapidly to adjust. You are in a busy marketplace, and chatter surrounds you.

"So how was your week?"

"Oh, just the usual office work, preparing reports, writing up documents. How about yours?"

"Same, same. It was such a bore and my boss is an asshole. I need a hard whiskey and a raise."

The conversation between the two friends who you appear before continues without a hitch, despite the fact that you stand right between them.

“You've got that right. God, when did my life spiral into this mundane direction?”

Judging from their nonchalance, you must not be visible. Cautiously, you reach out to touch one of them. You make contact with the skin of her shoulder, noting that you cannot morph through her, however she doesn't flinch away. Perhaps your entire existence was similar to Meleoron's Perfect Plan ability. She probably cannot feel your presence, however she shivers.

"Yeah, I wish I could- Did it suddenly just get really cold?" She wonders, crossing her arms to rub her bare skin with a shiver.

The other woman shakes her head, offering her scarf, which the first woman politely declined.

You turn away from the two, and begin to study your surroundings. There are other black orbs around you, but they are scarce and you only observe one in the whole marketplace. The signs around you are written in an eerily familiar alphabet, however you are unable to put your finger on the exact place you've seen it from. It is an array of strange circles, dots, lines and arcs which you cannot read. The setting resembles a festival, bustling with people, lined with tents, their colours varying from maroon to deep green.

You wander to the end of a row of stalls, and there is a stage in front of you. A man with a top hat and microphone is trying his best to gather a crowd, for a performance.

"Welcome! Welcome all to Zaban City!"

Dead eyes flicker at the mention, of such a familiar name, where had you heard it before? You gulp. A second passes, and then another before you let out a cry of surprise. Your jaw falls comically and you frantically move your head back and forth to study your surroundings.

"Zaban City? As in from Hunter x Hunter?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> h hewwo, im back and reposting this fic bc i orphaned my old account from fear that my irl friends would find it ha ha sweats, I'm sorry I've neglected this for so long, I just ended up procrastinating and being enraptured by my other hobbies/interests since writing is like stress/depression relief for me, and now,,, I really wanted to write again bc real life is a very mean. 
> 
> On a side note, I did/will make some edits, but nothing that effects the events, just bc i felt like it was rly choppy when i re-read it.


	2. Poppies X And X Daffodils

On the map in front of you is the familiar shape of a continent which faintly resembles an upside down South America. Sure enough, in the south, there are two dots which are marked at the southern coast of the continent. Although you cannot read the alphabet of this world, you recognise the locations as Zaban City and Dolle Harbour. 

Nearby, there is a tourism and information stall with pamphlets about Zaban city, as well as the rest of the Kukan’yu Kingdom. It seems as if the hunter exams are held on the northern half of this empire. At the northern border, there is a destination marked with a picture of Netero’s face and above Zaban City is a dot labelled in the unfamiliar shapes of their alphabet with a picture of trees and strange beasts. You link this image with the Numere Wetlands. Below the map are details of the methods of travel, listing airships and bullet trains. You are briefly thankful that numbers look the same in this world, allowing you to read the timetable. Each transportation method seems to depart every hour from their respective stations, with a bullet train station at the edge of the city you are currently in. At the very bottom of the page, a paragraph begins. 

Absentmindedly, you pick up the pamphlet and flip the leaf of paper in search of images. Instantly, you feel the piercing prickling of gazes upon you.

“What was that?”

The sudden exclamation is right in your ear. You are about to open your mouth to complain, but you realise the man who had spoken is pointing at you. It doesn’t take long for you to realise that everyone else is probably seeing a floating flyer. You slowly set down the pages back onto the stall, hoping that people would just ignore what happened. Unfortunately, luck never really is on your side. Some of the people who had witnessed the display shuffle awkwardly away, while others glare with judgemental gazes. One woman amongst the crowd frowns. She tugs at what seems like her boyfriend’s jacket, lifting a finger in your direction.

“But there’s a girl right there” She states in a confused tone.

The man with her frowns, scanning the direction in which she points. “I don’t see anyone. Are you alright, honey?”

“What do you mean?”

You can’t help but stare at her as you process her statement. The two of you make eye contact.

“See? She’s looking right at us!” She lowers her voice as she feels your gaze.

You are shocked, who is she and why can she see you? She seems to be the only one with this ability, does this make her a spirit whisperer or something? Is this an anomaly or can others see you as well? You frown, debating on whether you should approach her or not. It would be strange if she were to speak with you when no one else can see you.

With a sigh, you decide to walk away, and check up on her later. Her hair is a stark electric blue, which would be hard to miss either way. Your next destination is the bullet train station merely half a kilometre away from you.

~

“The next train will depart in 10 minutes. The destination is Alderite City Station. The first stop is Death Marsh, followed by the Numere Wetlands, Kirygan Mines, E Road, Hunter Association Hotels, and finally Alderite City Station. This trip will take approximately 4 hours. Will all passengers please board the train.”

Many of the stations have names unfamiliar to you. A part of you wants to get on the train and explore each area, however, it seems to be extremely full. You don’t know what would happen to you amidst a crowd that cannot see or sense you, nor did you want to know. You think back to the blue haired girl, what if someone on the train can see you while others cannot? In a closed space that would make for a terrible situation. At the very least, you needed a way to either make sure you are visible to everyone or visible to no one. To do this, you will need the aid of that girl.

As you arrive at the bustling marketplace aches of exhaustion hit your body. You frown in displeasure at the normality of your body even as a ghost. Did it even make sense that a dead person can feel tired? Probably not.

A quick scan of the area reveals that the girl is about to leave, holding a plastic bag filled with multiple packs of bear. She seems slightly tipsy, as she clings onto the boy’s arms with bright blue wisps spilling over her eyes and impairing her vision. You move swiftly through the crowd to follow her as she exits the bustling square. Soon, you are surrounded by a quiet residential area. You hadn’t realised how dark it had suddenly gotten. The pair in front of you come to a sudden halt. For a moment, you are afraid that they had noticed you, but it was the male that pauses their pace.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” The girl asks, her voice slurred.

“You know, you’ve been really getting on my nerves recently.” The man next to her declare, coldly.

“Huh?”

“Acting like this,  _ embarrassing _ me like this.” His voice is a low growl.

“But I thought you said I became better!” She defends.

“Did you see the way you behaved today?” He demands, towering over her.

“I-“

The loud slap of his palm connecting with the side of her cheek snaps you to reality, and your eyes widen at the aberration of the scene playing out in front of you. There was so much raw tension between the two, unadulterated emotion you’d always been too meek to witness for yourself. You are frozen, mind glazing over in panic.

“Yeah, you. Everything is about you isn’t it.”

“No that’s not what I-“ She cuts off her own sentence, as she notices the man producing a knife from the inner pocket of his jacket.

“Clinging onto me like that while staring at other men. Being so noisy and attracting attention like that as if it’s what you thrive off, I can’t take it anymore.”

She stumbles, backwards but trips on her own feet. Tears well up in her eyes. Frightened, you fumble around your pockets, but your phone isn’t on you. A lump forms in your throat, and you are completely unsure what to do. 

“I want you. So fucking badly. But you won't be mine.”

“I am, I am- please don't! S-stop!”

“Why can’t you see the position you’re putting me in?” The man approaches her, merely inches away from her cowering figure.

In a state of panic, you charge at him and attempt to grab the knife. His grip strengthens when he feels the heavy plastic start to slip from his fingers.

“You-“ She gasps, while the man scowls in confusion.

He wrenches the handle of the knife backwards and out of your grasp, causing the sharp edge of the blade to slice against your palm. A sharp pain blooms at your hand, and you feel thick liquid drip down your wrist. You instinctively flinch away.

“Was that the bitch you were talking about, or are you just messing with me?” He commands.

Over this time, the girl’s demeanour began to changed, frantic eyes growing accepting. Tears well up in the corner, but her voice doesn’t shake as she speaks.

“No. This must be fate.” She laughs dryly to herself, “I'm basically on death's doorstep.”

“You’re fucking crazy.”

“Really? I don’t think I am.” She mumbles, looking past his shoulder, straight to you. “Tell me, Miss ghost, am I right?”

You don’t know. Probably. You open your trembling lips to reply, but before you can utter a syllable, or do anything to help, the sickening squelch of a blade sinking into flesh cuts you off. A gasp escapes her lips, and her form slumps forwards.

Seconds pass in static silence as the life fades from her eyes. A faint glow leaves her body, and an amalgamate of faint purple light emerges. It moves without sound, floating barely above ground. A spherical patch of light is in its path, and you watch as the two come into contact. The glowing figure of purple light begins to dissolve into tiny fragments. The specks of lavender are floating off into the night sky as a light breeze sweeps through the area.

When your gaze falls onto her body, you gag. A large wound to her chest exposes the light pink flesh below her skin. A river of red flows calmly and paints her clothes scarlet. You tear your eyes away. Goosebumps form on your body, you hadn’t realised how cold it is. Your brain is numb, unable to process what had happened. You look down to your palm. The cut in your hand has already disappeared, not leaving so much as a scar against your skin. 

You feel empty as you stumble back to the well-lit marketplace, still bustling with people. You find a brick wall to sit at, huddling your knees to your chest. It is your best attempt at warming yourself up. A sudden pang of sleepiness racks your brain, and you curse.

The prospect of this sinks in at that moment. Weary, and cold with no place to stay and no idea who you are visible to at any moment. You had never thought a dead person could feel so vulnerable, and the fleeting thought of returning to that glowing sphere of light to disappear crosses your mind.

Minutes, perhaps hours pass. A shadow is cast over you, and you look up to see a middle-aged man offering his coat to you. Under other circumstances, you would have probably declined, however you are desperate for warmth.

“Can I sit here?”

You give a small nod as you wrap the thick fabric around your shoulders. You revere in the homely feeling the soft fleece inside provides, sighing contently.

“Sorry. I just wanted someone to talk to today.” He sighs, lounging on the spot next to you.

It doesn’t past your shocked mind that he can see you, and that he will probably die today.

“What time is it?” You wonder out loud.

“7 PM.”

There is a pause, and you wonder if you should inform him of his upcoming death. You spare a glance at his expression. It’s unreadable- a small frown while he smiles contently. Perhaps he already knows. 

People who pass by you frown, and cast estranged stares in your direction, probably witnessing a floating coat next to a man talking to himself, but you are past caring at this point.

“What are you doing here by yourself?” He asks in a gentle voice.

“I’m not sure. I’m not sure what to do.” You confess.

“I see.”

Another awkward rift in conversation.

“So, what do you do?”

“I’m a student.” Is your automatic response, but you quickly realise that you are in fact dead. “I mean, not really, anymore.”

“And what happened?”

You don’t want to response. After a few seconds of opening and closing your mouth, he catches on to your hesitance.

“You don’t have to be afraid or anything. I mean I don’t know. I just, I hope that doesn’t sound strange, but I- ...I’m sorry, this is probably strange and extremely forward, but I have a terminal illness. I’m going to die today.” He stammers.

You turn to him with a sad smile.

“I know.”

“Oh.” He leans his head backwards against the brick.

“I died.” You explain blatantly.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is quiet.

The ease with which he accepted such a strange fact slightly annoys you.

“No, don’t be.”

Another bout of silence ensues.

“So what’s it like to be dead?” He wonders.

“Painful. I feel pain when I’m injured. I’m tired. I want to sleep. No one can see me but dead people. Everyone looking at us probably thinks you’re crazy.” You sigh in admittance and bury your face in your arms, before adding in the quietest voice, “And I have people that i miss.”

“Will it be like that for me too?” It's barely a question, low and defeated.

“Probably not. Just walk to the light.” You chuckle bitterly at the casual nature of your own statement.

“I see.”

“I hope you rest in peace.” You murmur.

“Thank you” He mumbles. “Go to sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

It is bizarre to see yourself trusting a stranger but the man had proven himself to be genuine so far. You let your consciousness drift away. You hadn’t realised how tired you are. From the corner of your eye, you see a nostalgic glow. The blinding brightness is tinted yellow, and soon, small flecks of honey and daffodil drift over your form.

“Liar.” You manage to utter before sleep takes over you.

~

When you wake up, it is mid-afternoon and the sun shines on you at full force. The marketplace is already bustling and people cast dirty glares in your direction, probably directed at the dead man next to you. As to be expected. Your clothes are caked with dirt, and your forearm still feels sticky. Dried clear liquid, which is probably your blood, creates a stream of cracking substance down your wrist.

Over the last 24 hours, you have come to multiple realisations.

  1. Your physiology is extremely mortal, needing to sleep and keep your body at the right temperature. To maintain comfort at least, it’s not like you can die again, right?
  2. You cannot in fact morph through objects and people.
  3. People can still see objects and clothing you touch, and therefore the effect you have on those objects are visible.
  4. When you are injured, you heal instantly.
  5. No one can see you until the day they die.



As you recall the events of the previous day, you shiver in displeasure and decide that sudden outbursts of irrationality are to be avoided. As are people who can see you. You aren’t a saint who can save people’s lives, so you might as well avoid that trauma.  Besides, you are in one of your favourite worlds, you might as well enjoy yourself a little. Perhaps it is time to pay your favourite characters a visit. You rest the coat around your shoulders onto the corpse next to you. With a bow, you pay your respects and leave.

Nearby is a bus station full of shuttle busses to either the harbour or the airship station. You decide to go with the latter, and venture wherever the first airship you board takes you. There are so many characters you want to see in real life that you are not sure who to find first. For the entire bus ride, you grin to yourself, looking forward and leave your worries behind in the small town of Zaban City.


	3. Difference x Between x Children

How had you managed to get lost and end up on the wrong continent? Honestly, it was probably due to your lack of reading ability. That’s why you decided to venture out and give yourself a day to learn to read. From memory, the alphabet system in this world should be quite similar to that which you are familiar with.

It is early morning when you arrive at the library. There is one librarian working, and only a few other patrons. Grateful, you make your way to the children’s books and pile them onto a nearby desk before sitting in front of an open page. The characters are large, an extremely obnoxious bold black making the font easy to differentiate. Each row of text labels an animated drawing of an animal above it. You prop up your chin with the palm of your hand, and lean forward. With one of the free notepads and low-quality ballpoint pens provided, you begin to decipher their alphabet.

~

By the time afternoon rolls around, you had finished deciphering the whole alphabet. Luckily, each character in this world corresponds with one from your world, thus making your task a lot easier. You have committed each circle, dot and squiggle to memory, and are able to read. Understanding a line of text, however, takes you almost a minute, as you haven’t gotten used to the words yet. You decide to swap the picture books you had been using for a children’s novel.

You push the chair back to stand up and pull the stack of thin hardcovers into your arms. You are getting used to the strange stares directed in your general direction, at the seemingly floating books. After all, they had been staring at the pages turning themselves all morning. You notice someone talking to a staff member, pointing in your direction and zone in on their conversation with mild curiosity.

“Yes, yes, we’ve called an exorcism service which is relatively well known.” The librarian whispers, pushing his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose.

This perks your interest, and you wonder what would constitute as a normal exorcist in this universe. You hum as you lower yourself to your knees and slot the books back in their original place. On the opposite shelf are thicker paperbacks which appear to be simple novels. You pick a light pink book which looks like an easy read. There are a few more by the same author, and bring them over as well, each its own mix of fuchsia and rose. Situating yourself at the table you had claimed, you flip open the cover.

It isn’t long before your attention wanes, and you grow impatient of the shallow stories of prepubescent romance those books had to offer. Your fingers tap silently against the wooden desk. The other hand fidgeting with stray locks of your hair. Your cheeks puff out with air and you stand up suddenly. The noise of the chair scraping against the wooden floor is loud, instantly attracting the attention of others.

“I’m bored, when is the exorcist going to get here?” You whine loudly.

No one seems to hear you. A fortunate sign that no one there would die today. You stretch, feeling small cracks and pops travel down your limbs and back. Nearby, there is a sound of a ringing bell and soon after, you hear loud chattering. School children begin to file into the building, lugging their large bags and laughing amongst their friendship groups. One boy, lanky with shoulder length hair, is being dragged along by a group. They push the former along, and you notice that one is threatening him with a baseball bat. Around them, students shift their line of sight away, as if avoiding the situation. If you were those students, you would probably do the same, however now you’re a dead spirit waiting to play with an exorcist, so you might as well test your capabilities with a group of high school bullies.

As you see the library quickly fill up, you begin to formulate an idea to pass time while waiting for the exorcist. A giggle bubbles in your chest. Behind the cover of your stack of books, you scribble some words in the alphabet you had just learnt.

_Please meet me outside, I have something to confess._

For good measure, you draw a love heart at the end before folding it in half. There are a lot of students circulating the library space, and you take that chance to slip the note into the hand of one of the delinquents without raising suspicion. You can immediately see a hint of pink in his cheeks when he reads the note, and he immediately rises from his seat.

“Wait for me. I have to do something." He announces to excuse himself. 

Before he can move any further, you put into action your genius plan to embarrass the group of them. You start with the teen who stands before you. A swift tug at the waistband his pants are at his ankles. He looks around in confusion while some of his friends point and laugh. 

They aren't laughing for long of course. One of them had bought a iced donut into the library, which was a terrible mistake on his part. He should have followed the rules, it might have prevented the dark brown icing from ending up all over his face. 

"What the fuck?" He gasps in a fluster. 

Your next victim the girl who had been harassing the lanky boy for homework. You pull out the water bottle from the side of her bag, and twist it open to pour it over her head. The clear liquid drenches her hair and shirt, leaving her squealing at the sudden cold.

“What- who- “ she stutters.

You grin at the sudden distress that overtakes the group of delinquents and pick up a pen from their table. You straddle the first boy, with the pen poised against his forehead, so hard it drew a single droplet of blood. 

_I mess with people smarter than me._

The words are scrawled in a mixture of red and black, and you stand back to admire your work. The group stumbles out of their seats and away from you. At this point, most of the library’s visitors had also done the same. The staff look at each other in panic, and you can see that they want to just run.

“Where’s the exorcist? Shouldn’t he be here by now?” One worker whispers to another in panic.

“No, I’ve been here for a while now.” The voice is familiar, a soothing mid-tone which holds little evidence of emotion.

You instantly recognise the owner, round grey eyes and a bandage around his forehead. Black hair frames his face, and he is clad in a dress suit which is perfectly fitted to his figure. A flush of pink stains your cheeks and you can’t help but squeal. Seeing a character whom you admire through art come to life in front of you really is something else. Everything, from his atmosphere to his appearance is so perfect and true to form that you would probably have passed out if you were human.

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” It is apparent that the librarian is intimidated by Chrollo’s presence.

“I was observing it.” Chrollo replies, simply.

 _It_. He’s talking about you. Your form shakes in happiness at his acknowledgement, and you notice that your body is glowing more than usual.

“O-Oh.” The librarian stutters.

“Could you please clear this area?”

“Yes, at once!” Is the high-pitched response, as he snatches up a microphone, “Would everyone please evacuate the site, I repeat, could everyone please evacuate the site.”

As the few remaining members of the public cautiously traverse outside with the staff, you take a deep breath to try to calm yourself and play it cool. You want to leave a lasting impression on the leader of the Phantom Troupe.

“I haven’t witnessed such a mystifying ability in a while.” He begins.

His words make you realise that he probably became an exorcist to steal abilities. With his compliments, another pulse of exhilaration rushes through you.

“A manipulator? A conjurer? No. I cannot see your Nen. You are probably a specialist.”

You approach him, and his eyes track your movement. He can sense you. As expected from such a notorious character. You decide to ignore his questions, you use a pen on the front counter to scrawl across the white mahogany it had been resting on.

 _Chrollo Lucilfer. I know everything about you, Danchou_.

An excited grin plays on your lips as you see his calm expression stain with a hint of irritation. As soon as it had appeared, it is gone. You continue, hoping to probe a greater reaction from him.

_If you want to steal my skill, I’m afraid you’re out of luck._

“You’re quite informed, ” His voice is still it’s usual calm lull. 

His gaze is intense, focused solely on you. You are sure that if you still had a heartbeat, it would be soaring away at a million beats per second. You are briefly incapacitated by his attention, unable to think of what to write next.

_I’ll touch the cover of your book and explain my ability, if you really want._

You swallow hard before adding the next sentence.

_You can even kill me however you like._

You set down the pen, and make your way towards him, holding your breath to try to calm yourself. The proximity is driving you crazy, being close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body. You tremble with excitement, and you wonder if you can feel the tremors through your arm as you reach to lift his arm up. He allows you to trace a few characters on the palm of his hand.

_Skill hunter._

To your surprise, he agrees to your request, and conjures the book. The yellowed pages of his Nen ability flip by themselves, stopping on a page titled with an unfamiliar skill.

“Firecracker.” He utters, and your surrounds flare a spectacular vivid orange.

The sudden heat causes your legs to wobble, stumbling backwards before you catch yourself on the white mahogany you had previously vandalised. You look around to find the source of the heat, but it's already gone, and instead a cloud of ash floats around you. You notice that the black specks cling to your clothing, some even adhere to your hair. It makes your form plainly visible, and he takes the opportunity to trap you against the counter. 

“You should probably clean ink stains off your hands while you use your ability. This situation you're in really is your own fault for giving away your weakness. Now, are you going to carry through your promise?” He prompts and closes the book, holding it out as if urging you to touch the hand print.

The rigid cover is colder than you expected. As soon as you make contact, he grips your wrist. Pain shoots through your arm at the force he exerts, yet a thick sensation of delight swells in your chest from the contact.

“It’s as if nothing’s there, yet I am unable to close my hand.” He muses to himself. “This would be easier if you reveal yourself.”

You shake your head, some fragments of ash free itself from its confines with the movement. He lets out a quiet sigh, and you feel his breath ghost over your ear. You squeeze your eyes shut- your chest feels like it's about to burst.

“Then, while you are using your power, is there anyone who can see you?”

In your flustered state, you scrawl the answer in your own alphabet.

_If it’s the date of that person’s death._

You quickly realise this mistake, and scribble your writing out to correct it.

“Oh?”

The sound of inquisition is followed by a shift in his movement. Without letting go of your arm, he leans down as if to study the text closer. He hums in acknowledgement, and there seems to be the faintest hint of interest evident in his calculating gaze.

“Say, have you ever met a man with a spider tattoo?” As he turns back to you, his eyes widen in the slightest. "So that confirms it..."

You aren’t sure how to react, so you stand there staring, mouth slightly agape. It had never occurred to you how incredibly sincere Chrollo is as a person. There is no limit to the depth of his grey irises, and for the most part, they are expressionless, yet the clarity of the surprise and inquisition staining those orbs is unbelievably vibrant. His attention has you pretty much melting. Are you really going to fall for the first character you meet upon entering this world? You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts and proceed to write.

_What do you me-_

“Speak.” He demands.

You hesitate for a second before following his commands.

“What do you mean?” You probe and the question quivers.

You are answered with a mere smile and a nod of acknowledgement.

“I see…”

You come to realise that he can hear your voice, and perhaps he can see you too. It also occurs to you that this is different from the other cases, and the gradual transition of his reactions to you suggests that it is a skill he has somehow managed to develop over the last half hour. What an amazing person.

He appears to be deep in thought, and you don’t want to distract him. You bite your lip, and wriggle the limb which is still in the confines of slender fingers. This pulls him out of his thoughts. His lips spread into a warm smile.

“Would you mind coming back to my hotel room?”

If a suited criminal with his face partially covered asks you to follow him to his hotel room, the most obvious answer is a firm ‘no’. This however, is a special circumstance and before you can jump to more perverse, and unintended meanings of the request, or even find the sane mind to decline his offer, you find yourself graciously agreeing.


	4. Reasons X To X Lie

The hotel he is staying at is extremely lavish. The room is huge, furnished with an extravagant black framed bed and decorated with various pieces of matte furniture. The entire outer wall is made of glass, allowing view of the lights emanating from the smaller buildings below.

“Amazing…” You hear yourself breath in awe.

“Is it? It doesn’t particularly suit my tastes. I was told that this building would be the most convenient.” He makes his way towards the glass and peers downwards, “Although I can’t see how that would be.”

You chuckle, thinking back to the dilapidated building that had been his hideout in the York New city arc. In comparison, this room does seem extraordinarily over-the-top.

“You prefer a dump in the outskirts of a city?” You joke.

There is still a sheen of ash over your body, and the dirty feeling of soot coating your skin is mildly irritating. Your idea of revenge is jumping over his sleek mattress, hoping to shed as much of the residue as you can. As you bounce against the soft silk, he sits down beside you.

“To put it bluntly, yes.” He responds in his usual calm voice.

“Ahh, the head of an A-Class bounty group who hates to live in luxury. Of course.” Whoops, did you just say that?

“And what about you? How do you know so much of me?” He questions, smoothly.

“What, you’re not going to try to charm the information out of me like you did with Neon?” You taunt, with the memory of the act he put on to steal the ‘Lovely Ghost Writer’ ability.  ‘ _We’re on your bed after all_ ’ you want to add.

“Neon? Who’s that?”

“Uhm, well…" You open your mouth to respond, but it occurs to you that you don’t know what arc you have just walked in on. Perhaps this is before the York New City Arc, or even before the beginning of the manga. You hope your next question doesn’t seem too suspicious.

"H-How’s Uvogin doing?” You stutter.

He stares at you with an unreadable expression, but chooses to go along with your sudden change in topic.

“He’s doing fine. You knew him?”

Your first instinct is to lie and you aren’t sure why. Is it to protect your own truthful backstory? Would it be selfish to spin a yarn of lies, for the purpose of interacting with a character you had admired for years? You frown and shake your head, clearing it of the distracting thoughts.

“Something like that.” You shrug, trying to be as vague as possible.

“How long ago was it?”

Before you can spout some elaborate fib, he redirects his question.

“How long ago did you pass away?”

There is a tender undertone to the words which you don’t expect. Is it an act? His attention has your head spinning again and in panic, you protect your own truths.

“Dude, I'm not dead or anything.” You lie in a monotone.

“I see..." You aren't sure whether he believed your answer, "Either way, it's nice to see that Uvo has made a lovely lady friend."

“Lady friend?” You protest, “No, it’s not like that!”

“Like what?” He probes with a mild smile.

You cover your cheeks and bite your lip. “We’re not friends or anything. We just happened to pass by each other one day.”

“It was just a joke. But you know, Uvo wouldn’t talk so openly.”

His assumptions make you frown, stammering out a reply.

“What? I didn’t mean that he told me about you, he didn’t, really. I just- I was just-“

“You didn’t want to elaborate?” His eyes bear into yours, and you try to avert your gaze. You aren’t sure how you had allowed him to figuratively back you into a corner so easily. What a careless mistake you had made.

“I mean, I-“ You are at a loss for words. Unsure how to clear the situation, you let out a heavy sigh and give up on your lies. You realise that weaving a web of fiction would only result in you being tangled in your own deception in this world. You decide to continue with a dramatic tone. “You’re no fun, Chrollo. A maiden has her secrets to keep!”

This elicits a chuckle from him.

“What are you so amused about?” You question.

He leans backwards, and his black hair splays across the velvety silk.

"You speak so openly, it just feels like I’ve known you for quite some while.”

“Really? I thought I give off the opposite vibe.” You muse, “People probably dubbed me as unapproachable with a single glance. When I was alive that is. Maybe death changes people.”

It is true that you act a lot more open with Chrollo, it almost makes you feel bad for lying to this smug mass murderer. You argue that it is because you have already gotten to know him through an elaborate tale told through pages of a graphic novel. You wonder if you would act this way with the other character you are bound to meet along the way as well.  

His solemn voice cuts through the brief rift in conversation. “I offer my condolences for your death.”

“No, it’s fine. It doesn’t really bother me.”

“What city are you from? I’ll pay you a visit the next time I’m in the area.”

It isn’t a question you can really be truthful about. “York New City.” It is the first region you can think of off the top of your head, most probably because of its connections with the man seated before you.

“So how did you end up in Padokea?” He questions.

The name rings a bell, and you recognise it as Killua’s home continent.

“I was exploring. I’ve never really had this freedom before. I guess I just want to have a bit of fun.” You admit.

His eyebrows knit into a light frown as you speak. “You’re brighter.” He observes.

You look down at yourself, and notice no difference. His words strike a switch in your mind. It is an ability. Something you can control.

“Oh.” The sound of surprise is eerier than you had expected.

“May I introduce you to some other members of the troupe? I’d like for you to travel with us. Your abilities may come in handy.”

You bite your lip, a part of you wants to stay, the promise of a group to form a close bond with, and call family is tempting. You would love to keep close to Chrollo, but originally, if you were to choose, you would have joined the adventure of the protagonists. As much as you love each antagonist of the story, their way of thinking doesn’t align with yours. And through your experiences so far, you don’t have the stomach to witness death, let along be the cause of it.

You tense, recalling all the deaths that this man has been, and will be, responsible for. You feel bile rise up your throat, trying to imagine what a field of Kurta corpses, with their eyes gouged out, would look like. You make your best attempt not to gag at the imagery. You realise that it is time to take your leave.

Your voice is weak when you speak. “I’m not particularly a fan of that type of thing. You know, the whole-“

Your conversation is cut short by the slamming open of the hotel room door.

“Danchou! They received an anonymous tip about our location. The stock has been moved to another city, we should leave soon.”

A flurry of pink, which you recognise. Behind her is a black cloaked figure. You perk up to Machi’s words, wondering what their target would be. Chrollo, however, continues as if she never spoke the warning.

“Machi, Feitan, good timing. I want to introduce you to someone.”

“What do you mean?” Feitan’s asks in his wispy voice, the question irregular in rhythm.

You briefly wonder what Feitan’s mother tongue could be, since every continent seems to speak the same language, and he is from Meteor City, as all the other members of the Phantom Troupe are. Not that it matters, after all, it is a trait that gives him an adorable edge. Hearing it in real life makes you want to pat his hair and tease him about his height. You also don’t want to end up brutally tortured with no death to escape to, so you quickly dismiss the thought.

“Here” He motions in your direction, and you can see a look of confusion grow on the girl’s face.

“Danchou. Are you just testing out a new ability or something?” She chides, crossing her arms.

Chrollo shakes his head, “She’s a ghost, actually.”

His serious tone only makes the two spiders more confused. The glance at one another sceptically.

 “I’ll introduce myself!” You suggest and approach the pink haired girl.

Your plan is not to co-operate with Chrollo, of course, but to have your own fun and find an escape route. You circle around her, before raising your hand to her hair. With a swift tug, the turquoise hairband holding up her messy ponytail is in your hands. She doesn’t seem to have noticed, but an expression of unrest crosses her lips. Using the thick sash of fabric, you cover her eyes. At this, you feel an explosion of aura from Feitan, a burst of En. His eyes narrow, and you take this as a sign of uncertainty, so you continue. There is a flash of muted worry in Chrollo’s expression.

With a cheeky grin, you proceed to untie the sash around Machi’s waist. You then drape the maroon band around Feitan’s head, pulling it into a bow and impairing his vision. This action is more so to satisfy your own entertainment than to warrant your escape. You are glad that she doesn’t recognise your presence, instead sending her threads forward, creating a maze of twine from which no one can escape.

“Sorry, Danchou.” You sing with a wave before bolting out the door.

~

You let out a sigh of relief as soon as you are on the small shuttle bus, riding away from the large city centre of Padokea. The bus isn’t full, however most seats were taken, so you resort to sitting next to a tall and frail looking middle aged man. He turns to you and gives a nod in recognition.

“Are you alright, miss? You look like you ran a marathon.” The tour guide on the vehicle asks cautiously.

“Yeah, do you need some water?” A boy behind you chimes.

It dawns on you that you have made a mistake, boarding a bus with a group of people destined to die that day. You can only shake your head at their offers, maintaining a calm exterior as your mind screams for you to get away. The next stop cannot come any sooner.


	5. Waterworks X More X Waterworks

“And right now, we are in front of Kukuroo Mountain, the home of the famous assassin family, the Zoldycks!” The bubbly tour guide announces.

And so, the first stop is the home of even more characters which you are infatuated with. Your idea to run away as soon as possible goes out the window.

You are the first to get off the shuttle bus, and immediately dash to the small room where the security guards stay. The key isn’t difficult to snatch, and the old man barely realises that the shiny object is gone. The others on the bus don’t seem to mind your actions either, as if in a completely different world, admiring their surroundings. You quickly slip through the small door next to the testing gate, bringing the chain of keys with you.

Mike is a fearsome creature. His eyes are devoid of any sign of humanity- completely empty and ready to kill. His limbs and head are gruesomely elongated, with thick matted fur. The animal towers over you, over 10 feet high. Along with the darkening sky above you, the sight could rival any monster present in a horror movie, and if its sights were focused on you, you would be completely horrified. Fortunately, it sniffs around, turning in circles, as if trying to identify the intruder. The monstrous guard dog ultimately fails its task, and returns to the shadows of the bushes surrounding the estate.

You let out a relieved breath and continue along the field, towards the manor on the elevated terrain. Soon, you come to a clearing, where the dirt is patchy, almost forming a dirt path. Before you, is the presence of two people. 

“Mr Illumi, welcome back. How was your mission?” The female voice is faint, you can barely hear it.

A dark-skinned girl with a cane stands in front of a gap in a stone fence. Canary. In front of her is a man with sleek black hair, spanning midway down his back. Illumi.

“It was pleasant.” His tone is flat and curt, and as soon as the words are spoken, he walks past the gate.

Efficient would be the best way to describe his mannerism. He wastes no time on the unnecessary. This trait makes you want to find a way to tick him off, and so you follow him. You are surprised to find that he actually walks. It seems like almost a saunter for him, yet you struggle to keep up in a light jog.

Your first idea comes to you when you see him brush away a stray leaf that falls in his hair. He seems annoyed at the greenery for touching him. You hum, and look around for something to use to mess up his hair. Dirt, leaves, twigs,  _a hose_. You grin, at the sight of the upcoming gardening tool.

The tube is heavier than a hose you are used to, but you only have to angle it slightly upwards to make sure it is aimed at him. The water spurts out with a twist of a plastic knob, and the liquid projects in his direction. As soon as it reaches him, needles are sent flying in your direction. You squeak, letting go, and the water sprays everywhere.

“Strange.” He articulates, nonchalantly.

Illumi is soaked, yet as his eyes skim over your location, he shows no sign of anger. Instead he seems dismissive, shrugging off the anomaly before continuing on his journey. You pout, it isn’t the reaction you had expected, nevertheless you are relieved that you emerge unscathed. To celebrate the small victories, you continue to follow him.

After some time, you begin to grow tired. Your legs ache, and your breath is shallow. The mountain, upon which the Zoldyck manor is built, is still far. Looking around, there is nothing that can be used as a vehicle. Even if there were, an inanimate object following the trained assassin would rouse nothing short of suspicion. There is one thing moving towards the manor, and that is Illumi himself.

You must have a death wish, you conclude. Even though you are already dead, what other reason is there for you to haul yourself onto the back of one of the most dangerous assassins in existence? All you can do is hope he doesn’t notice you clinging onto his shoulders with your legs wrapped around his waist.

On second thoughts, you can’t tell whether the rising butterflies in your stomach is from the possibility of your future demise, or the feeling of Illumi’s well-toned body. It is probably the latter. You conclude that you’d still love to wrap your legs around his waist under different circumstances before berating your own sinful thoughts and trying to divert your attention to no avail. For a person who just assassinated another human, he smells pleasantly of flowers.

You are lightheaded when you finally arrive at the mansion. The building has a foreboding atmosphere of its own, but you are more concerned with the skin to skin contact you are still making with Illumi. Every stride, his muscles flex under your hold. You are convinced that this feeling is the definition of debauchery. 

“I guess I’ll take a shower before meeting mother and father.”

You instantly blush as a picture of the said scenario pops up in your head. At the same time, you recall a memory of a trick your friend had played, filling his boyfriend’s shower-head with hard boiled candy. From his story, it sounded like a huge success, and you had been itching to try it on someone for a while now. You wouldn’t have anticipated it happening like this. In a bout of excitement, you scout ahead, looking for any signs of Illumi’s bedroom or a kitchen.

The kitchen door has a small barred rectangle in the upper half, allowing vision inside. The door is incredibly heavy, and it takes all your strength just to open it enough to slip inside. Inside, there is a long kitchen island in the centre. Cupboards line the walls, and a refrigerator sits in the corner. You are glad that no one was using the room. Their supplies seem to have no end, stored with snacks, meats, seafood, vegetables and staple foods. On the front shelf is a bag of chewy candy clouds of assorted colours. It’s perfect for your prank, and you grab it before making your way back to the corridor.

The Zoldyck manor might as well be a maze. It’s dark with too many hallways and completely silent. It is probably a miracle that you find Illumi’s room before he arrives there himself. His door is just as heavy. You look around upon entrance, a flawlessly tidy bed, a garment which exactly resembles the one which he wore in the first arc of the anime, and desk lined with pins of various shapes and sizes. Yep, definitely Illumi’s room.

Adjoined to his bedroom is a bathroom with a grand shower built into the furthest corner from the door. The shower-head is flat and square, screwed onto a metal tube guiding water from the tap in the wall.

You hum and immediately get to work. The shower-head weighs the same as a normal one would, which is fortunate. You unscrew the joint and select blue clouds from the bag to press into the metal cylinder. When you have filled it enough to content yourself, you bunch up the opening of the bag. A cupboard below his sink seems like the perfect hiding spot for the candy.

Waiting for his arrival, you lie on his bed but immediately cringe. The mattress is as hard as rock, and you swear you hear a crack in your lower back as soon as you jump against it. You groan in discomfort, rolling around to try to find a more comfortable position. To your dismay, the rectangular boulder offers no luxuries.

Soon, the door opens. The front of his figure is shadowed. As soon as he walks in, he wastes no time in pulling his shirt over his head. You blush at the sight, turning away. The article of clothing falls onto the bed, and drapes over your feet. You pull yourself away, hoping he doesn’t notice the fabric shift slightly. Luckily, he’s already in the bathroom, which just so happens to not have a door. You hadn’t noticed this detail before, and the position of the bed allows you a clear view of the shower.

“What am I even doing here?” You yelp to yourself. “Should I leave? No but then I’ll miss out on the outcome of all my hard work!”

There is a thud of clothes falling to the floor then you hear the squeak of the tap turning, and bury your face deeper into his pillow. Your cheeks feel like they are on fire.

“Hm. Are the pipes blocked?” He ponders.

You peek out from behind the pillow, trying your best to focus your attention on the top half of his body. You appreciate his decision to face away from you. He stares up at the shower-head before pulling it off the rack and giving it a firm jolt.

Suddenly, a stream of water bursts forth into his face. The liquid is dyed blue and presumably sticky from the melted sugar. It coats his face and neck, as well as setting in his hair. A joyous bout of laughter forms in your chest and rises up your throat.

“Who would have done this? Killu? No. Milluki? No.” His voice is flat as usual and he turns back to you. His line of sight glides over your figure. “Hmm. If it were my siblings I may forgive them but…” His voice lowers, the lids of his eyes narrowing. “You’re not family”

Assassin instincts sure are strong. From his aura, the bloodthirst is clear. It’s intimidating, feeling like the very depth of misfortune crawling towards you. Under other circumstances, you would perhaps be cowering away in terror, however ecstatic bubbles of delight still remain in your stomach, popping and spreading a new sense of humour through you.

Between fits of giggles, you bolt. It takes all the force you can muster to drag open the door and slip through as fast as you can. As soon as you are through the frame, the door is held open by the assassin. He makes a grab at the empty space in front of him. His fingers manage to skim the surface of your skin. If he were to have aimed slightly to the left, he could have crushed your arm, but it’s fortunate that he can’t detect your exact location, allowing you to escape unscathed.

When you deem it to be safe, you slow to a walk down the corridors of grey bricks. Looking back at your own trickery, you begin to giggle again. You can’t contain those bouts of laughter. The image of a blue faced Illumi with those fish eyes half lidded in irritation could be the source of your amusement for months.

“Ahh, I guess I’ll have some more fun here before I go back.” You sing to yourself, walking through the hallways and peeking through the barred windows of each door.


	6. ' X A X I

Silva Zoldyck is an incredibly huge titan of a man. The muscle surrounding his arm is thicker than your head, and perhaps even your waist. You stare at his lounging figure with your mouth agape.

Out of curiosity, you poke at his biceps, which are probably harder than rock. Briefly you wonder how the man would react if a seemingly sentient tape measure wound itself around his body. Envisioning a reality of pain, you dismiss the idea soon after.

You turn your attention to your surroundings and proceed to inspect the rest of the room. It is dimly lit light blue, the glass tiles under your feet boarder on freezing. The shelves are lined with expensive decorations, intricately carved from a variety of materials, and you can’t help but reach out. Your finger glides across ornate glass, and you notice a light blue smudge against your skin. It seems to mute the natural glow from your body. It is something that perhaps shouldn’t have surprised you as much as it did. In a moment of confusion, your hand jolts, knocking over the décor that you had been touching.

A large hand is wraps around your wrist. Under the grip, your arm looks no bigger than a twig, and it feels that way too. You let out a shriek, feeling as if your bones would shatter at any moment. You are under the scrutiny of the long-haired man, and suddenly, you don’t want to be there anymore. The touch is excruciating, and you feel the pressure increasing second by second.

“Strange.” Silva voice is gruff and deep.

Knowing full well you aren’t strong enough, you try to pull your arm away. For a second, your limb barely budges, the grip around it stiffening. Suddenly, your body lurches backwards, arms freed. The blue mark is gone from your hand, and instead, has transferred onto the skin of the Zoldyck assassin before you. The sequence of events leaves you shocked, eyes wide in disbelief. You look down to your arm, and sure enough the azure stain has disappeared.

“My imagination?” The burly man muses with a frown.

His eyes dart around him, narrowed in suspicion. His eyes skim the whole room, not seeming to notice you. Either way, you turn abruptly, and in your clumsy flurry to leave, knock down two more small glass sculptures before scurrying to the open gap opposite to that which you entered from.

Silva clicks his tongue against his teeth in irritation, staring at the shards of glass, and chips in the floor. He focuses on the corner of the ceiling, where a spherical camera is situated. The deep navy of its lens and body contrasts with the ice blue theme of the room, yet it blends in its own comfortable aesthetic.

“Milluki. Put the house on lockdown.”

“Yes, father.”

This family has surveillance cameras everywhere don’t they? Did they have no shame, or do they not need any privacy? Or did they ask Milluki to look away in the process of conceiving their younger children?

Before you can continue with that line of thought, a rumble sounds from above you. A thick stone slab descends from above, closing the entryway. You quickly step out of the way, watching as other escape routes are closed.

Beside you is a dark hallway, the walls are curved. Further down, it is closed off by two slabs of thick steel which meet in a straight disconnect down the middle. On one of the metal blockades is a finger print scanner.

‘How inviting’

Logically, the next action would be to press your own fingertip against the device. At first, nothing happens. You press harder, until you can feel the strain of the plastic scanner below your pointer digit. There is a loud beep, followed by the light blue lights blaring orange. Strangely enough, a series of metal gates, circular in shape, open as if to form a path.

The further down you walk, the thicker the gates seem to get. When the last barricade opens, there is a white room. It’s too bright to fit in with the ominous nature of the rest of the Zoldyck manor. The centre of the room is filled with toy, plushies of all sorts and an extremely large doll, sitting still in the centre.

The doll has long black hair, choppy and layered with a perfectly even fringe. Its hair is held down with a headband, decorated with faded rosy spheres. It wears a dress with long pink sleeves which seem to span down infinitely, almost like wings. The muted green of her skirt extends past her knees, to her shins. Large eyes of stark ice blue draw contrast with its porcelain skin. You notice that those eyes are staring right at you. In fact, it’s not a doll.

“I’m Alluka! What’s your name?” She pipes with a high pitched innocent voice.

The sudden volume surprises you. You blink a few times in silence while she stares at you.

“Uhm… Are you talking to me?” You point a finger to your face.

The implications dawn on you. She’s not supposed to die here. You panic, blaring lines of greys marring your judgement.

‘What did I do for this to happen? Did I indirectly kill a character? Oh god. Poor Alluka. Poor Killua.’

“Of course!” She berates, lower lip jutted out.

“I…” You start.

You swipe your tongue against your bottom lips, nervous. You swallow, hoping the action would push away the fireworks of fear in your chest. Restless fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt. You decide that her immediate dangers are probably Illumi, or another Zoldyck who isn’t Killua. Your safest bet is to leave the manor.

“Can I speak to Naniga?” You ask cautiously.

She hums, expression turning to one of contemplation, a finger tapping against her chin.

“Naniga says she doesn’t know you. How do you know about Naniga?”

You force a smile onto your face.

“I’m friends with your older brother.” You explain, carefully drawing out your words. “Killua.”

“Ah! Older brother!” She beams. “Does he want to play? I want to play!”

You nod, kneeling so that your eyes are level with hers.

“Yea, Killua wishes to see you. So, I need Naniga to take us to him.” You state.

Immediately, her face morphs something different. The image is almost akin to a mask, yet the abnormally white skin extends down her neck. You are greeted by black soulless eyes.

“’Ai”

The change in scenery is instant. One second, you’re in a bright room surrounded by white light, and the next you’re in the middle of a forest. You can hear the call of crows echoing around you. The Zoldyck manor is no-where to be seen, instead there is a white mansion in a clearing nearby. In front of you, the infamous Killua Zoldyck, sauntering away from the building, cloaked in a black hood.

“Killua!” Naniga calls.

The girl extends her arms out, running to the cloaked boy in front of you. He turns, and his eyes widen in surprise.

“Naniga? How did you get here?” Killua questions with a frown, accepting the hug as she jumps into his arms.

“Your friend over there said that you wanted to play!” She points at you, leaving the assassin bewildered.

“My friend?” He questions.

You watch as her face morphs back to its normal, human features. Killua stares in your direction quizzically, the inquisition morphing right through you.

“Yup!” She looks up at him. “Naniga says she’s a ghost! I didn’t know you were friends with ghosts!”

Her proclamation stuns you, she had known all along. She passed off the detail so normally. It has you thinking back to everything you had read about her, questioning her origins. Killua, however, evidently doesn't believe her. 

“A ghost, huh?” He chuckles, ruffling her hair. “And she sent you all the way to Mimbo Republic?”

“Yup!”

Killua sighs, with a small smile. “Let’s go play back home, Alluka.”

“Huh? What about your ghost friend?”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine on her own.” He waves off.

You nod, agreeing just for show and hustling the girl to follow her brother. Before the pair leave, hand in hand, Alluka turns back to you with a bright grin.

“It was nice to meet you! Naniga said she hasn’t met a ghost in a really long time! She says you’re really pretty too!”

With that statement, everything clicks together. A dejected laugh exits your lips. So, all that effort was for the sake of a misunderstanding. Still, it’s nice to know that someone can see you, or rather, something.


	7. Tower X to the X Sky

You giggle madly, covering your face as you recall the intense gaze of Killua Zoldyck. With the power of hindsight, you wish you had hugged him, or pinched his cheeks, maybe ruffled his hair. Anything to mess with the adorable assassin. Of course, it is too late as you are already arriving at Heaven’s Arena, after sleeping in a hijacked bed throughout an entire trip via airship.

The bus you had transferred to draws near, and you crane your neck for a clearer view, but stumble forwards when the vehicle lurches to a stop.

“Current stop, Heaven’s Arena.” Announces a robotic voice.

You grab onto the nearest thing you can find to stop yourself from falling, which turns out to be a triangular handle dangling from a horizontal bar. You have idea on what kind of madman would find it convenient to hold onto such a contraption to stabilise themselves, but it had never been much help for you. You end up almost falling forward, holding onto the low-grade plastic for dear life as you teeter on your tip-toes. When you are sure you won’t fall on your face, you pull yourself upright.

“Eh? Did you see that move my itself?” A nearby man points at you, speaking suddenly with his friend.

“I think you’re imagining things.

“What if it was a ghost or something?”

“A ghost? Yeah right.” The second man rolls his eyes.

“You have a point.” The first man laughs.

“Come to think about it, though, there’s been word spreading about a ghost.”

“A ghost? I thought it was a reaper. It’s the girl that appears when a person is near death, right?”

“Yeah. I heard she just casts them a glance and walks away too, what a cold reaper.”

“People are going around naming her ‘Shinigami’. Her nickname is ‘4’ now.”

“Eh. Those people are probably crazy anyway.”

“Right?”

Wow, word of your existence sure spreads fast. It’s barely been a week and it’s already become an urban legend. Shinigami. Being named as a death god sure has a nice ring to it. You giggle at the thought, imagining yourself as a cold, beautiful woman with curves and a stoic composure, reaping the shining essence that emerges from dying people. You shake your head to clear the amusing image from mind, getting off the bus.

The building in front of you is an incredible sight. At the base, there are a set of windows, tended to by women in the signature pink uniform. Each desk is labelled- register, information, tickets. The main body of the building glimmers white, its cylindrical figure a looming, yet non-threatening presence which seems to blend right into the busy city. You realise that a tower of 250 floors is nothing to take lightly. On that particularly cloudy day, the structure seems to stretch all the way to the heavens- truly worthy of its name. The grand spectacle causes doubts to form in your mind. After all, even the lowest levels are full of what would probably be MMA-level fighters.

Your stomach churns as you approach a registration desk. Luckily for you, there isn’t anyone else waiting. You figure that the worker has probably already seen all kinds of strange people, so you decide to make the interaction simple and sweet. You pick up the pen from her booth, tapping it against the window in front of her to garner her attention. If she’s startled, it doesn’t show on her face as it forms a sweet, fake smile.

“Welcome to Heaven’s Arena! To register, please fill out this form.” She pushes a thin stack of paper towards you, “If else, there is an information desk to your right.”

You pull the paper towards you, pressing ink against smooth white. Unlike forms in your world, the first page is a warning about injury and death with a checkbox at the really bottom. You skim through it, ticking the square. The next is about transfer of money. Again, you tick it immediately. The last is about personal information, which you fill out with haste. Finally, it comes to your name and signature. You are about to complete it in truthfully, but pause. You think back to the conversation you overheard on the bus. There is a giddy smile on your face as you write down the alias on paper. You feel like a chic anime character.

_Name: Shinigami_

_Signature: 4_

You push the documents back to her, and she skims through them. With nimble fingers, she transfers your information into a computer system. She flips through the last page, frowning, then staring carefully at you. She shakes her head, and finishes her typing with nimble fingers. She’s done within moments, folding the forms into a file behind her.

“Shinigami, you’re number 1666, They’ll call your number on the first floor of the arena, so make sure to remember it.” She explains and hands you a wristband before motioning for you to leave.

Oh, how perfect- what are the odds? A bemused smile plays on your lips at the number you are given. You mime an invisible nod of appreciation before taking your leave.

~

You use a white training jacket from the changing room to claim your presence in your first match. You’re nervous, but it feels more of stage fright than fear of injury- an unrelenting heaviness in the pit of your stomach, and tension in your neck. You shake out your limbs.

The fighting ring for your first match is small. Many square platforms line the stadium row by row. There aren’t many people in the audience, a lot less crowded than you remembered it being in the anime. Only a couple of rings are occupied, so you are scheduled to fight very soon after your registration. A referee watches each contest, a clipboard in hand.

“#1456 and #1666, please enter ring D.”

The way he calls your number make is seems more like a doctor’s appointment than a fighting match. You hold your head high when you walk onto the ring, squaring your shoulders under the jacket to appear confident. As soon as your form is in clear, undoubtable view, you hear a ripple of murmurs from afar, but you are unable to differentiate the words being said about you.

To your surprise the person you are fighting against isn’t a burly, arrogant man, frequently shown to verse Gon and Killua in the lower floors. Standing opposite you is a woman with sharp eyes, flecks of doubt in her emerald orbs. She transitions into a fighting pose, bringing her fists up to protect her face with her eyes trained on your visible garment. You feel a tinge of guilt when you shrug off the jacket, but the emotion is discarded just like the piece of clothing.

“Begin!”

She is still, unsure what to do. As are you- you probably should have thought this out more. You recall the moves that Killua and Gon used in their fights. In particular, you focus on Killua’s chop to the back of the neck that seemed to be able to knock a man unconscious. You approach the girl, raising your hand and tensing. You tap the back of her neck, probably too softly, since she is unaffected, still frowning with her arms raised. Your second attempt packs a lot more of a force. For a second, she still seems to have not felt your attack, but as she makes her move, she stumbles forward in a disarray.

“Huh?” She breathes, cradling her forehead.

You feel sorry for her, but sharply sweep your feet across the back of her ankles, taking your best aim at her Achilles tendon in order to capitalise on the opportunity to make her fall. She doesn’t realise that her body is dropping, and doesn’t react in time to reach out her arms. The back of her head hits the ground, and although the surface isn’t particularly hard, you can see that her body isn’t trained for the impact. He eyes roll backwards before fluttering shut.

“A-And the winner is Shinigami.” The referee announces.

His tone is laced with disbelief, as if unsure about what he had just encountered. He pulls a ticket off the machine on top of his clipboard, holding it out forward. You pick up the white training jacket from the floor and take the ticket from him.

“Congratulations. You’ll advance to floor 45.”

You hum at the assessment, slinging the jacket over your shoulder. For your experimental fight, the 45th floor seems like an exaggeratedly high assessment. You shrug and turn to leave. All eyes are on you as you leave the stadium, and you feel awkward under such intense scrutiny, yet at the same time, you happily drink up the attention and confusion. Being invisible sure has its perks.

At the elevator, you are about to press the up button, but a familiar figure catches your attention. Fiery magenta gelled upwards, a black costume, trimmed with gold and an extremely eccentric, pink sphere separating the upper and lower segments of the garment. One pale hand rests against his hips while his other arm falls by his side. His lips are pulled into his usual Machiavellian smile, almost radiating sinister intentions. At the sight, you realise how strange he would appear to anyone else. At least he’s keeping his bloodthirst in check.

‘ _Why do I love this man?’_ You question after evaluating him in real life.

You want to go up to him, ask him for his autograph, hug him, show off your strange ghost powers, yet because of those ghost powers, you really can’t. You shake away those desires and continue into the empty elevator to the 45th floor. You decide to garner his attention through a rapid climb up to the 200th floor. The thought fires up a heavy surge of motivation within you and you grin in anticipation for your upcoming battle.

~

You proceed to the next match without caring for the net total of a measly vending machine drink that your first victory could earn you.

On the 45th floor, there is much more room to fight. The raised platform is a larger square, unbound by rope. Powerful yellow lights shine upwards, illuminating every inch of the floor with an upbeat atmosphere. There are many more observers than the first floor, littered through the grandstands, however still not as many as you would expect for a notorious arena. Perhaps it’s an off-season for business. Do those even exist?

“This match will be between Arkurto and Shinigami!”

The man you are to fight against irritates you from the moment you lay eyes on him. There is an arrogant glint in his eyes, as if he’s the best even though he’s stuck on such a low floor. His arms are clad in muscle so big, they almost resemble clouds, and his abdomen are so defined that you really wonder if he implanted a bricks into his stomach. His legs are spread wide while he stands, and his hands rest on his hips.

“Heh. Some cheating freak? How do you expect to knock out someone strong like me? I heard you’re just some little girl.”

Indeed, he has a point, but you also have a plan. Of course, it’s built upon unreliable information from spending way too much time browsing the internet, but it’s the best idea you can scour from the edges of your mind. Before the referee announces the start of the match, you shrug off your jacket, but make no visible move to move until the jacket is at your feet.

“You may begin.”

By the time the commencement of the match is announced, you have already close half the distance between the two of you. Call it cheating if you will, but this man is really getting on your nerves. You are inches away from him when he still hasn’t moved into a proper stance yet. No fists in front of his face to protect him, no balance in the position of his feet. Way too cocky. You take the opportunity to strike. You twist your abdomen first- building an elastic energy between your chest and biceps. When you feel the tightness coil in those muscles, you swing your fist forward, putting your whole body into the punch, aimed as close as you can to his temple. When your knuckles connect with his face, a white, hot pain shoots up your arm. You immediately pull back, clutching your hand

“Ow ow ow-shit- ow- fuck.” You shake your hand out, yet the pain had dispersed by the time the last of your curses leave your mouth.

You glance up to see the effect of your punch when the sharp ache disappears. Unfortunately, he’s completely unhindered, despite the green-purple bruise blooming on the side of his forehead.

“Oh, have you grown too scared to attack me? Then I’ll come to you.”  

‘No, that really isn’t it’ You think in reply.

He begins to attack the air around him, wildly throwing kicks and punches in all directions while moving around the ring. It’s a comical sight really, and you would probably laugh if you didn’t want to beat him down so badly. You watch his uneducated attempts, easily keeping out of his range.

At that moment, a memory is sparked. It’s a method a martial artist friend of yours had talked about years ago- a way to render someone unconscious without needing much strength. Against this iron giant, you figure it could be your best bet.

You snake around his occupied figure and climb onto his back, trying to ignore the disgusting feeling of the thin coat of sweat coating his overly muscular body. You wrap your right arm around his neck with your elbow pointing forward. You press your upper and lower arm to either side of his neck- focusing pressure at where you think his carotid arteries would be. You use your other hand to lever your arm and squeeze tighter around his neck. You make sure to leave his windpipe open, so he can’t feel your blood choke. Within seconds, the restricted blood flow goes into effect. His muscles go limp under you, and he falls forward. You withdraw your arm before he hits the ground, but land on top of his figure when you fail to rebalance yourself.

“Sir, can you continue?” The referee asks, now at your side.

When he receives no response from the titan, he nods, typing something into his little gadget, which in turn prints out a small slip of paper.

“And so, the winner is Shinigami!” He announces to the sparse audience.

You receive the receipt and drape your jacket over your arm. This time, you leave the stadium, basking in the satisfying afterglow of victory. Fighting an arrogant opponent with such an attitude really does make all the difference.


	8. Comfort X In X Barriers

Of course it would be unavoidable- but you had anticipated at least making it to the 100th floor with your unfair advantage. Your unadulterated frustration Is only outshined by the embarrassment of someone directly calling you out on your unkempt clothes and matted hair. It’s hard to groom yourself with no place to stay, not homeless, just temporarily disadvantaged. Especially after 6 fights in one day, oh so close to making it to the 100th floor which promises you the sweet luxuries of a high-end room with no one else. Yet—

“Does death look like a dumpster? I can’t say I’m excited.”

-There is a smug asshole literally standing in your way.

Not even one which you recognise from the show, though there were a lot of smug assholes in the show. Just thinking about his attitude fills you with spite, and an intense pride that you are unable to bite back. Red hot adrenaline shoots up your spine, and you grind your teeth together.

“Well you’re about to find out soon.” You shoot back.

“You’re going to kill me?” He taunts, raising an eyebrow.

You shrug, eyes glazing over into a cold glare, casting aside your doubts about facing a person on such a high floor who you are visible to. “Haven’t you heard? I’m not the one who does the dirty work”

“Of course. I saw one of your previous matches. Less than impressive, I think. How much did you pay them to act?” He laughed, biding his time in conversation. “And don’t think I haven’t heard of those bullshit stories either. The world must be made up of sheep for such a rumour to spread.”

“I’m sure you’re just in denial.” You deadpan.

“Yeah, let’s see about that, shall we?”

“Anything for you to stop running your mouth.” You retort.

Wordlessly, he propels himself forward with a suspicious glint in his eyes. Suddenly, his body jerks to the side, as if dragged by his shoulder. You spring backwards, wary, but the momentum causes him to fly out of the ring. The stunned silence that befalls is broken by a sickening crack. Whether it came from the man’s body, or the stone wall he was slammed into, you aren’t too sure. He slumps to the floor and a waterfall of grit clouds the air around him.

“Oh.” You breath, voice mirroring your confusion.

Minutes, or perhaps only seconds pass before the crowd erupts into cheer. People spring up from their seats, whistling, and screaming loudly. There is a thunderous applause, unequitable to anything you had heard before. By then, a layer of debris had settled upon the man’s body. It coats his skin, as if shielding his body from your bewildered stare. You’re not quite sure how to react.

“And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen! In her most extravagant victory, Miss Shinigami will ascend to the 100th floor” The commentator boasts in a grandiose manner.

Her enthusiasm snaps you out of your stupor, and a wave of satisfaction washes over you. You stick your tongue out at your downed opponent and bow before hopping off the podium.

The unlit exit of the arena seems more welcoming than ever before. You bask in the radiance of victory as you walk through the tunnel, grinning. Victories against people you spite are always the most satisfying.

An unexpected clack of heeled shoes breaks through your languid pace, and your head turns towards the sound in curiosity.

“What a magnificent show. ♡” You hadn’t expected such exalting words to welcome you at the base of the stairs, especially not from him.

The voice is deep, yet strung high, husky, yet refined. The eccentric tone sets your heart at an erratic pace, and sends a shiver down your spine. You swallow hard, yet it doesn’t get rid of the lump at the back of your throat. The rush of heat through your veins adds to the adrenaline from your match prior. This character, too, is someone you recognise.

“Hisoka-“ You call, without thinking.

With this lack of light, the ominous glint resting in the depth of his upturned, topaz eyes makes you freeze. He’s closer than you expect, distinctly in view. On instinct, you compare him to his depiction in the manga. A flawless duplication of character and appearance. Everything about him from his aura, his poise, the way he carries himself. You let out a deep breath to calm yourself before you can process anything else.

Your next thought is a memory, perhaps because the traces of pink donning his battle garments. The rosy hue mimics what you remember of his transmuted aura.

And such, two and two fall into place, quite literally. That incident hadn’t been a stroke of fate, or a victory of your own accord. That realisation turns your admiration into an entitled sense of irritation, while you glare daggers at him.

“No one told you to step in, you know.” You state matter-of-factly, crossing your arms.

He raises an arched eyebrow at your motion. At that simple gesture, you throw away the threads of care for formalities, or manners of the sort. Perhaps the idea of being inaudible to him encourages you and you end up being too caught up in the moment to process anything about the situation.

“It’s so unsatisfying knowing that someone handed me the win out of consideration for their own entertainment. Because you think I’m worth fighting, don’t you? Well sorry to burst your bubble but I most definitely am not. But honestly, I’m starting to want to, just so I can hit you.” You declare, glowering at him. “And moving past that, why are you such a likeable character even though you’re terrible and intentionally void of a backstory? You want to break all the characters I like, and yet you’re also one of the characters I like. It’s so annoying, now that I’m standing here and thinking about the logistics of it all. Your entire existence is so illogical, it makes me want to hurt you. And so-“

You raise your head, drawing an arm back with every intention to attack him, or at least slap him. As you stare back up to his face, his almost rivetted expression makes you realise how petty you must sound if he really were able to hear you.

“And so I-“ Your conclusion ebbs with the heated frustration which you had been venting, and you lower your hand. “I-“

“How enticing. Your hostility was just leaking out.” He leers, leaning down as if to study you more closely. “I want to fight you.”

You merely glare at him in response, dropping your arms to your sides.

He pulls you closer, amber orbs trained on the nothingness that you occupy. For a moment, they gleam in fascination.

“What an insightful conversation we have had, but I’m afraid I must get going.” He turns his back to you, walking towards the faintly illuminated exit at the end of the tunnel. “I’ll be waiting.”

You shake your head in exasperation, rubbing the back of your neck, where your jacket would have left red marks if you were still human. A part of you wonders if he had really heard your words and that part of you isn’t sure whether to be horrified of amused.

~

Warm yellow light illuminates the room a welcoming colour. Against one wall is a king size bed, adorned with elegant white linen. Opposite is an expensive-looking television, spanning the width of half the wall.

You forget all about your long day as soon as you step foot inside. You slam the door shut and immediately dash to the large window, overlooking a blatant nightlife you had never been aware of. You rest your chin on the heel of your palm, from the 100th floor, down

There are bars, nightclubs and fancy restaurants. At the young hour of barely 10 pm, people are already beginning their nights. You see a suited man lead a woman in an elegant dress to a fancy restaurant with gold-plated doors. There is a group of students, already drunk and stumbling on the roadsides. A couple of scantily clad teenagers are throwing up onto the curb side and laughing while they trip over their own feet. It’s so alike your own world that you can’t help but wonder if anything has really changed.

Then again, you dead now, and what is essentially magic exists now. So, things really have changed. You turn away from the nightlife, towards the warmth of your room.

The sight of the fluffy blankets tempts you to nosedive onto the bed. You are sure that this is what heaven feels like. The bed bore the softness of cotton candy and the warmth of a fireplace in winter, and you sigh in contentment. You lazily sling off your jacket, throwing it across the room and spread your arms around a fluffy pillow. You reach to turn on the television, with a fleeting curiosity about the contents of this worlds media. A static buzz jolts the black screen to life, turning on to a children’s cartoon channel. You remember the show, it’s something you used to watch as a child, about a little boy collecting monsters and exploring the world.

However, it isn’t long before your mind is wandering again, digging at the recent memory of your sudden rant at Hisoka. It definitely wasn’t how you had planned to meet such a dearly beloved character. You pull a pillow close to you, whining into it in a mix of frustration and embarrassment. Instead, you try to think about all the more pleasant encounters you had made. Somewhere between the memories of escaping the phantom troupe, dying Illumi blue, and that adorable conversation with Alluka, the fuzzy white light illuminating the room seem to blur together, encircling you much like a protective barrier. Comforting, yet isolating, and your lips pull into a thin smile. 

With a yawn, your eyes blink to a close and all your stray thoughts drift away. The upbeat theme song drones on in the background and before long, you’re sound asleep with a goofy grin on your face.


	9. Ambience X Of X Conflict

You are awoken by sunlight that is all too bright, along with a shrill, familiar laugh that jolts you upright. You look around for the source of the obnoxious sound, only to realise that you had left the television on throughout the night. On screen is a yellow conglomerate of god-knows-what with limbs, a long nose and suit pants.

“So SpongeBob is a show in this universe too.” You muse, with a hint of dry humour whilst shielding your eyes from the rays of sunshine streaming in through the frosted pane of glass in the wall.

You wrinkle your nose, squinting to block out some of the ambient brightness. Propping yourself on your elbows, you lean back against your pillows, tuning in to the show.

Your room fills with the loud droning of a clarinet, played by a squid, which seems to irritate his neighbour. The said sponge then proceeds to play a music track through a loudspeaker. Soon, the pineapple house shakes as the volume increases, along with a dramatic zoom out to exaggerate said volume.

This ends in a loud war of both parties trying to outdo each other, blaring horrifyingly loud music at each other’s residence.

~

And so, after of hours of procrastination, watching Spongebob, and a shower, you stand in the centre of your room with your knees slightly bent and your legs shoulder-width apart, clenched fists at your hips, staring forward at a makeshift target dummy consisting of pillows and a coat stand.

“Haah!” You shout, thrusting the heel of your right palm forward, twisting your arm around as you deliver the blow. The coat stand tips over, collapsing with a loud clack, however the impact feels weak. You prop it up again, frowning at the form’s extraordinary lack of weight.

“Ugh, it just doesn’t feel right.” You groan.

Your mind wanders to Wing, who had been Killua and Gon’s mentor during their time here. The thought is quickly dismissed by the evident gap in itinerary between you and the man, and you prepare another attack.

With another dull thud, the heel of your hand slams into the pillow, this time angling your wrist more upwards this time. Again, the attack feels unsubstantial, and the stand unceremoniously tips over. You bend down to pick up the figure again.

There is a sudden cough, followed by a knock, and you realise that your door is open. A petite figure clad in pink and yellow stares at you, a stack of form in hand.

“Pardon the intrusion. Since you did not register yesterday after advancing, I’m here to inform that you must participate in at least one battle per week to stay above the 100th floor. There are a new set of forms that you’ll need to sign before the end of today.” She states and trails off at the end of her sentence. “So, I’ll leave your new set of papers here.”

After what seems like a while of deliberation, she leaves the sheets at your door and promptly scurries away. The door clicks closed quietly behind her, leaving you to stare, whilst contemplating how to strengthen yourself for the next hundred levels.

 Floor 100 is where the competition steeps majorly. It had been made known by the characters themselves, and logic after witnessing this world first hand yourself. You bite your lower lip. You know you aren’t prepared for what is to come.

You eye the pile of cash, sitting an envelope on the sofa. Last time you counted, you had earnt almost 50,000 Jenny, which you deemed impressive for a day of fighting. Although it’s a respectable amount, it’s nothing that can support you for an extended period of time, so you had decided to keep fighting. Perhaps a certain red-haired magician also had a part to play in that decision.

As you absentmindedly flip through the stack of green notes, a loud burst of loud music floods through your walls, followed by terrible, off key singing. Blankly, you turn to stare at the direction which it comes from. Your eyes arch into a muted smile at the comical absurdity of the situation.

In a flash, you have the television switched on again, looking for the first music channel that you could find, which happens to be opera. You turn the knob on the remote until the volume is louder than that of your neighbour’s music.

You briefly have time to wonder if he would play your little game, when the thundering bass from his side increases in volume, and you can hear the lyrical screaming that accompanies the intense punk-rock instrumental. You continue to raise the volume, as does your neighbour, and you can feel the vibrations in the floor. You aren’t sure if it’s coming from the music next door, or if your opera is somehow loud enough to send your room shaking. With a gleeful laugh, you to turn the knob some more, racking up the volume until you can’t hear anything except for the high pitched, intensely exaggerated notes.  

However, that noise is soon replaced with blaring silence and the sound of your door forcefully slam open, metal handle colliding against plaster. The same worker from before, adorning the signature pink and yellow of heavens arena, stares at you in exasperation with a black remote in hand.

And that is how you ended up being evicted from your brand-new suite for an entire day, as a warning.

~

The fight is between two gladiators you had never heard of before, on the 195th floor, meaning the victor would advance to floor 200. The stage is set with dramatic spotlights, and lurid flames that light the outer ring, below the audience members in the front row. The crowd is bustling, yet there seems to be a faint circle if unease around you.

Perhaps wearing the ankle length bath robe with a towel around your head wasn’t the best way to divert attention from yourself. You had focused too much on covering up from head to toe, but paid no mind to the fact that your attire isn’t particularly appropriate for going outside. It is an option to go back to your room and change into another set of attire, although, being stared at as if you belong in a sauna is much more appealing than the mix of admiration, fear and scepticism that you generally receive. Not to mention, you’ve already thrown away the ticket butt to the arena match you are watching.

Ignoring the attention, you put your focus on the centre of the stadium. The two competitors in the ring seem equally matched, you note, listing your observations on their physique, composure and fighting techniques in a small notebook you had brought along.

After a few lines, you grow impatient, and opt to draw stick figures illustrating their fight, instead. You scribble the lines, with yours eyes trained on the scene, and soon the page is filled with tiny, simplified men, fighting each other.

Amidst your frantic note taking, you feel a tap on your shoulder, and turn to see a familiar face. Under a dishevelled appearance and thin rimmed glasses, you can practically see the righteousness shining through his eyes. You can’t help but to giggle.

“it’s nice to meet you, Miss Shinigami.” Speaks the soothing voice.

“Likewise.” You reply, caught off guard, before you realise that he can’t hear you.

You are about to scribble your words in the notebook, but he continues to speak. “You seem to be studying martial arts.” He states, although it comes out more like a question.

You nod, and the bath towel adorning your head bobs.  

“May I ask, what for?” He continues,

You pause, studying his demeaner before carefully writing your reply. “I want to become stronger.” Your notebook reads.

“Is there any particular reason?” He prompts.

“To win more matches.” Is your reply.

“Why is that?” He presses.

You tap your chin with your pen, pondering your words, aligning them with the perspective that Wing would favour. “So I can learn to prevent the deaths of those who don’t deserve to die.”

His expression breaks into a wide smile and he extends his hand. It’s almost enough to dye your thoughts with a tinge of guilt. “I thought you’d say something along those lines. I’m Wing. I’m offering to teach you. And I guess my assumptions were right about you.”

You accept the hand shake with a firm grip, before your pen is in your hand again.

“Wing, your shirt is untucked.” You write, with no reason to hide the duplicitous self-satisfaction you have written across your features.

_Jackpot._


	10. Vision x Of x Nen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finger guns, ya girl finally wrote new content yayay 
> 
> and according to tradition, unedited and at unholy hours, so I hope there aren't huge mistakes I missed in here

“Miss death god, what is your real name?”  The question comes as no surprise to you, yet you hesitate.

“It’s irrelevant”, is your reply, neatly printed across the notepad before you. After a silence on his part, you continue to joke with the roll of your eyes, “You can call me miss god if you really insist.”

Said joke somehow manages to fly over his head completely.

“Ok, miss god, would you mind revealing yourself?” He asks.

“Yes, I would mind.”

“Oh… I understand. Ones Hatsu is personal, after all.”

His reply leads to seconds of uncomfortable silence. It seems neither of you are particularly talented in leading a conversation.

“So why did you approach me?” You prop your chin up, slouching as you write.

“Well, you seemed interesting…. I thought you were a good person, someone with potential who needs a bit of help.” His answer is accompanied by an innocent smile, yet something about his response makes you uneasy.

“Sure.” You nod, “You’ll teach me to fight then?”

He laughs, “Of course, although I’m really not sure where to start. What do you already know?”

“Pretty much nothing.” You frown, “But I don’t want to learn the foundations of whichever Kung Fu school you take under. That’s not what I need right now.”

“...When it comes to martial arts, a race against time is meaningless. Talent is wasted if the foundations aren’t built.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do.” You sigh, “I have all the time in the world right now. Trust me on that one.”

Wing nudges his glasses higher on his nose bridge, as if in doubt of your words.

“Ok, look. I need to be able to render people unconscious. You understand right?” You further explain.

“You want to save people, don’t you? Is this really necessary?” His words are contrary to him running his fingers through his hair in defeat, “Nevertheless, there are a few things I can teach you”

What followed was an in depth introduction and explanation of attacks centred around the skull, including descriptions of punches that seemed too violent in comparison to his tame appearance. Eventually, it lead to so much uncalled for detail that you weren’t sure whether to feel slightly disturbed, or to fall asleep.

“What a martial arts nerd.” You joke silently.

When considering his words, you doubt your ability to punch someone with enough force to knock them out above the 100th floor, even in the vulnerable areas that Wing had explicitly shown. Because of this, you ignore his explanations and forego writing down any details. Briefly, you contemplate telling him that you had changed your mind, but you didn’t want to seem rude.

When he finally finishes up the lesson, he peaks at your notebook. From his 1 hour rant, you hadn’t written down any notes, and the majority of your page was filled with doodles that could be barely confined by the page margins. You can feel something about him soften and his shoulders shake in something of a chuckle. He offers you a cup of water, with an apologetic expression.

“I’m sorry, miss god. I think you deserve the truth... “

You nod, prompting him to continue.

“The reason I approached you was because I grew wary of you- I saw Hisoka’s Nen interrupt your match the other day, and thought you may have been connected.” He sighs, and pushes up his glasses, “Be wary, he’s not a good person.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the well-intended warning. Of course, you knew better than anyone what type of person Hisoka is, yet you’re grateful for the warning. The light around you glows brighter than usual, and extends outwardly. It’s a feeling of comfort and allowance that you hypothesise may allow wing to see you.

“(Y/N).” You speak, averting your eyes, “Call me (Y/N).”

And his eyes widen before closing into his signature smile. “Thank you, (Y/N).”

You rest your back against the wall, throwing your head back to gulp down water you hadn’t known you needed.

“So, Wing, why are you here?”

The ensuing lighthearted conversation leads you to information which you had forgotten about chasing. He talks to you about how he had been teaching a new student for a few months- his name is Zushi and he’s particularly talented. He speaks highly of the spirited boy, how he’s a good person, how talented he must be to have learnt Nen in just 3 months, and how hard he is working to learn Ten, as Wing had promised to allow him to participate in Heaven’s Arena once that condition was met.

You also learnt that the hunter exam would commence in another 4 months. To you, it was _the_ hunter exam, but to him, it was another pit stop in his words before he began to theorise about your Nen abilities.

“Hey Wing. Can I ask for a favour?” Your question draws an abrupt halt to the small talk you had held with him prior.

“Sure. What is it?”

“You see, these abilities came to be without me awakening them. I’ve learnt of the basics of Nen since then, but I haven’t had a chance to test out the limits of my Hatsu. Especially when it comes to fighting.”

“You want to fight me?”

“Oh god, no— I mean not to be rude, but you’re way too strong for me to have a chance against unless my Hatsu’s fully active. Which would be pointless right now. Actually, I wanted you to attack me with Nen.” You your dominant hand up to him.

“What? That’s….” He sighs “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“No, that’s fine, you won’t. I know enough Nen to protect myself.” You dismiss

“You’ve proved that you aren’t one to learn the basics.” He frowns, “And you seem to be in a constant state of Zetsu.”

“You can’t see my aura?” You muse, of course, that was news to you since you had just assumed that the weird light coating your skin was your aura after entering this world.

“No, I can’t. I can’t sense it with my En either.”

“That’s fine. Don’t sweat it.” You follow your proclamation with a joke and a wink to lighten his mood. “But it’s my first time, please be gentle.”

Of course such a subtle innuendo would also fly over his head. He nods but the worry doesn’t dissipate from his eyes. Reluctantly, he cups your wrist, and you wait, anticipating a cold burn or a sudden shock. You stare at his hands, yet, unable to see Nen, and growing impatient, your gaze darts to his face for an explanation. All you see written across his face is confusion.

“Why is my aura going through you?”

It takes you awhile to process his words. “What-”

Your question is cut off by a sound somewhere between an explosion and a tearing noise. In Wing’s hands were the remains of a piece of paper, where he had probably directed his Nen.

The shock of reality paralysed your chest before anything else. It distracts you from the colourful sparks that clouded the corners of your eyes, floating upward. Wide eyes stare at your own glowing hands that should have felt something, anything, where Wing’s Nen would have hit you, yet they were your body still without aura. 

“Why…” You murmur to yourself, “I can’t use it.”

“(Y/N), are you okay? You suddenly disappeared.”

You nod, hoping he could fill in the blanks from the movement of your attire. Hurrying over to the desk, you scrawl across the notepad, wanting more than anything to be alone at that moment.

“I’m sorry, I feel really tired suddenly. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

With that, push through the door and make a panicked rush back to your room.

 


End file.
